Bookends: the Kids Who Struggle in a Classroom Environment

Imagine a single bookshelf.  Filling the entire length are books, books of varying thickness, topic and cover design.  They are different from one another but all are still books.  At each end of the shelf is a thin, metal bookend.  Present, but easily overlooked.  They are, of course, not books, but despite taking up very little room on the bookshelf, they still occupy the same space.

Now think of a classroom of, say, 25 kids.  Most of those kids function pretty well in that setting.  Each child has his own strengths and weaknesses, interests and personality, but these students can sit at their desks, listen to their teachers and work independently when needed, filtering out the natural hum of the classroom setting.  These kids are the books on the bookshelf:  each their own, but sharing the ability to function in the traditional classroom environment.

Then there are the kids who can’t filter out noise, are easily distractible, and perhaps not as mature for their age.  Some may need even more stimulation to get their work done and internalize what is being taught.  These kids may need absolute quiet in order to concentrate or the very opposite:  the need to talk things through or bounce on a therapy ball.  Maybe they have a diagnosis or an IEP, maybe not.  These kids are bookends:  on the same “shelf” (that is, in the same environment) as their more numerous “book like” peers, but certainly in the minority.  They function differently.

You see where I’m going with this.  It’s not a great analogy, but it’s how I see my sons.  One needs absolute quiet in order to concentrate; the other needs tools (whiteboard, markers and his sometimes very loud voice) to get his mind around school, math in particular.  Like a pair of bookends, their learning styles and needs are at opposite ends of the “shelf.” Neither can sit in class, like most of their classmates are able to do, and learn their best in a traditional classroom.  In short:

My boys are not books.

One of their teachers asked me what he could do to help my boys.  I almost said:  the very things you cannot realistically do.  But I didn’t.  I was, however, still honest when told the teacher exactly what they need.   My older son needs quiet.  My younger son needs the freedom to talk out loud and use the whiteboard.  Then we sat and looked at each other, thinking:

These things we cannot realistically do.

I have known for a long time my boys don’t learn and process information the same way, but the differences between them and their peers only recently became clear, as my husband and I have watched them struggle more and more with academics.  I know they are not the only ones in this boat.  This is a tough row to, um, row, as they approach middle school, where the material becomes more complex and the responsibilities upon them greater.  In early elementary school we enrolled the boys in a charter school, a project- and multiple intelligence-based curriculum that almost immediately embraced their differences.  For example, for a project on Native Americans, the teachers assigned my older son to completing dioramas of tribal villages and my younger son to learning music and traditional dances.

Then we moved and the school options became those of the traditional variety.  And the three R’s have become more involved as my boys approach middle school.  The academic slip began.  And what my sons need to be successful in school is becoming more and more obvious.

So now what?  They certainly won’t qualify for an IEP, we’ve been down that road before.  There are tutors.  There is homeschooling.   The question my husband and I are facing is this:  what can we do for our boys now until they can choose their own academic path, in an environment that works for them, after high school graduation?  There are options, fortunately, and hopefully we will land on the right formula for academic improvement.

Bookends (the literal kind and not the “kid” kind) support books and hold them upright.  As I thought about how that definition may figure into my already loose analogy, I thought about someone my husband and I went to school with.  He was clearly a bookend:  obviously bored with school, and labelled a troublemaker for it, fiercely creative and crazy smart (he scored a 32 on the ACT).  Today he is a widely-known and internationally-respected photographer.  Maybe this bookend didn’t support his “books,” but in the end he has added integrity to the shelf, made it whole.

Nontraditional learners, “bookends” have so much potential, their differences in perceiving and interacting with the world make them the ones who may change it.  I’m not saying my boys will figure out a way to harness the sun’s energy or find a cure for cancer (if one of them does, awesome), but I truly believe if we can tap into their way of learning and help them use it, they will contribute something amazing.

Here’s to our bookends on the bookshelf of living and learning…

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Life Lessons, By Temple Grandin